# data[].attributes.body
Pictured above is my dog, Rosie. She was (very) unhappy because we had to go outside and it was storming out. She is here, drying off from the rain.

I've been going through some health complications recently and had to take a trip home to recover. My time with Rosie was short, but it was a reminder to dance in the rain.

I've said this on a few discussion posts, but I've akin dancing to a protest of the rain, but I'm thinking that's only one perspective. I think dancing to the rhythm of the rain can also offer a form of transformation. I had this realization when I was with Rosie--who, even though it was raining outside, still found a reason to wag her tail (and, unfortunately for me, find herself in the mud). But it was one of those moments that was full of clarity; the sound of the rain, her tail wagging, the feeling of being outdoors. Even though both of us wanted to go inside very quickly, there was still a peace to it. A moment of calm in the chaos of doctor's appointments and transitions.

# data[].attributes.body
Pictured above is the movie poster for "Suzume"--a Japanese movie that released in theatres this week. I love the director's storytelling through the visual arts--and when I heard that there were a few theaters in NYC playing it I took the opportunity to go see it.

I wrote about this movie in the recent discussion posts about Transformation through fiction. This movie really resonated with me and its story--the main point being the main character (Suzume) is looking for a door she found as a child that lead to a magical world, and in that world she was able to meet her mother (whom had passed on). Much of the movie is her arc of coming to terms with the fact her mother had passed, and even when she re-enters this world again, she ultimately decides to lock the door, signaling a "closing" of that chapter in her grief.

For me, this resonated because I am going through an ending of my own. I am graduating, I am moving on from my studies, and into a newer role that will continue on my path. There is a lot of change occurring and, much like Suzume, I feel as though much is changing and I am growing, becoming, into something new.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
Spring has sprung (and a lost balloon). 

# data[].attributes.body
I love Springtime--not only is it the season of my birthday, but it's also the season of change. Pictured above are the flowers blooming to make way for the Spring--and a lost balloon from one of Columbia's accepted student's activites.

Spring is a time of transformation for me--it feels like a season of rebirth and reconnection. The winter months are disappearing and the world is beginning to wake again. There is a dance, a rhythm, to the season that I enjoy. It feels fresh, it feels exciting, inviting. It reminds me of transformation through dance--does the dance have to representative of physical movements?

I did feel a little sadness for the balloon. A little lost on its own, stuck in the trees. I think I took this picture because sometimes I feel like the balloon. Other times, I feel like the flowers blooming from the trees. It captures a spectrum of emotions for me.

# data[].attributes.body
Messy artwork again! This time, the mess was much larger than my last. I went to painting event at TC and, underneath all of this chaos, was pictures we drew. Many of our palettes were still filled with paint and our "clean up", instead of throwing the paint out, was to put as much of it on the brown canvas as we could--and we couldn't use brushes! Some of us flipped the palettes over, others took the cups of water and rolled it around. We put on gloves and used our fingers, plates, we even painted with the palettes themselves.

For me, this chaos is a symbol of a protest. I've tended to stay on the side of neat and orderly, so doing something like this is a drastic change to what I'm used to. I had a glimpse of it with the painting I had done a few weeks ago, but this took it to another level. And in a way, it was very cathartic. It felt like a full-body experience, a way to de-stress, and feel more connected all in one!

# data[].attributes.body
Pictured above is part of the NYC skyline from the Jackie Onaiss resevoir in Central Park. I enjoyed this photo because it was the skyline from a different perspective--this time seeking some of the buildings from inside the city rather than from the outside.

This is one of my favorite places in the park because its where all the elements come together. Pictured is the warmth of the sun (fire) and the lake (water). Pictured behind me are the trees (Earth) and there was a breeze from the lake as well (air). Finding spaces where these elements intersect give me a sense of grounding.

I've been thinking about the term "co-creation" this week. For me, this term has meant to represent an alliance of sorts--whether it be with someone else or a higher power. I think this picture symbolizes co-creation for me--the moment where the elements intersect and a space feels like it has been created to exist in. There's a peace and a calm that is infused with it--I think that's what co-creating is supposed to feel like.

# data[].attributes.body
This past week, I had the privilege of cat-sitting for a friend. Pictured above is Captain--he kept me company as I worked and caught up post-Spring break.

I took this photo of him when he was staring out the window--I'm not sure what caught his attention or if he heard something, but he was staring intently. At the time, the sunlight was coming through (there is a sheer cover on the window that filters the light) and I decided to take the opportunity to take a photo of him.

Coincidentally, this was the week we also read the "A Photographic Journey" and explored the subjectivity of interpretation around photos and perspectives. Even in this instance, the picture of what was in front of us was different. He was on alert for some reason (I never learned what it was he was so intently attuned to) and I found no reason to be on alert.  I'm a firm believer that animals can be attuned to things humans cannot, and this can be an example of one of those situations

I think this is also why I wanted to do this photo series. It's a representation of my own perspective on life--all of these interpretations are my own and are a reflection of my own growth over the course of the semester

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
Pictured above are a sketching of two roses from a Paint and Sip 

# data[].attributes.body
Today, I went to a Paint and Sip with one of my friends--it was hosted by the art department of TC (highly recommend for any TC student, the instructor was amazing!).

We were asked to draw something that felt intuitive, and for me I always gravitate towards roses. Roses have been a recurring symbol in my life--when my mom was pregnant with my sister and I (I'm a twin!) she had anonymously received two roses to her door. To this day, she doesn't know who they're from (her speculation is my dad, but he is adamant it wasn't him). Roses have always been a symbol--I'm a bit of a romantic and tend to lean into the rose-colored lens. For me, its a reminder of how much love is out there.
Also, something to note, is the spiral shape I drew for the rose. Much like my earlier posts, spirals were something that have followed me as well. I usually blend the two when thinking about roses--from looking at it overhead, a rose's petals can look like a spiral. It felt like an opportunity to combine some of the symbols into one.

Something I never did was a kid was get messy--I always felt the need to have everything clean. So something I'd never done was finger painting and getting my hands dirty. To be transparent, I started out being careful, but the oil pastel got on my hands and it just kept spreading. I took the opportunity to use my hands as a part of the piece as well--and I was definitely surprised! Soon, I found myself coating my palm in oil pastel and leaving rubbings. For me, this was a reflection of two things--both the messiness of creativity and just how experiential creation can be.

This past week, coincidentally, was also the week we had the articles about art and ethics. Something I take away from this experience was, for me, a combination of aesthetics and ethics is including the whole self in the experience of creation. There is a sense of liberation in not holding back and using whatever you have to create something beautiful--something that brings joy to my mind (callback to the library quote).

This feels like a culmination of the first half of the semester--there is so much learning I have done and so much growing. If I didn't take the time to slow down and go to an event I normally would say I "don't have time for", I never would have done a drawing using my hands. I may have missed the opportunity to blend spirals and roses--two symbols that have followed me for some time now--and I may have missed an opportunity to learn something new about myself. If there's anything this experience has done, it has re-affirmed what I have been learning throughout this semester.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
Pictured above is a quote from the New York Public Library

# data[].attributes.body
I finally did something this weekend I have been putting off--I got a library card for the NYPL! While some may not find this as exciting, I am very excited because this means I not only get to visit more libraries around the city but get to utilize Libby-- an e-book service that provides free e-books to anyone with a library card.

Books have always been a love of mine. A psychic years ago told me that if I'm ever stuck in life, look to the books, you'll be doing something with them. That message always stayed with me--and she was absolutely right. I used to work in my undergraduate library system and for Barnes and Noble--and I find myself gravitating towards book stores and libraries.

When I visited the library to open the card, this quote caught my eye. This is a quote by Peter Schjeldahl (who I, admittedly, had to look up. He was the head art critic of the New Yorker). His quote was an interesting one "Beauty is not a concept, it is the animal joy of the mind". I think about joy a lot--I can feel myself come alive when I am in a stack of books or wandering through a bookstore. For me, there is beauty because each one contains a vastly different story than the next. I think one of our greatest gifts of storytelling--to chronicle, to scribe, to retain, to share, to carry. I hadn't considered that this was a form of beauty--this was a way for me to tap into my sense of awe and sense of wonder. That resonated with me though--bookstores and libraries are place for me to "reset". It's a place for me to reconnect with my child-like wonder and rekindle my sense of exploration.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
A picture of Alma Mater with signs representing the Resident Advisor strike. 

# data[].attributes.body
This past week I have been thinking a lot about legacy--I'm reminded of Maya Angelou's quote "legacy is what you do every day".

I have learned a lot during my time at Columbia and I am very grateful for the experiences I have--and I am hoping to continue those experiences whether I stay here or move to a different school. For me, I am questioning what my legacy means to me. What am I leaving behind? What do I want to give and leave with from my day-to-day?

Above is a picture of Alma Mater during the Columbia Resident Advisor Strike. They are currently striking for more robust mental health care, higher wages, more institutional support, and better work-life balance. Twenty minutes before this photo was taken, there was a large crowd of students there who were planning on walking to the President's house.

I felt somewhat disconnected to the strike because its largely undergrad focused and involves departments and jobs I am not a part of, but as a former RA I support the cause. I was taken aback by their fierceness--and there seemed to be both a level of love and grit within the crowd. This resonated with me when thinking about my legacy--I think I'm someone who puts much of what they can in what's in front of them. For my legacy, I think I want to carry that same love, grit, and "revolutionary" energy.

Coincidentally, there's a Tarot card in one of my decks that represents this "Revolutionary" energy. I had pulled it before and thought of the card when seeing the strike. The card represents "someone who challenges the status quo, someone who leads and empowers, and someone who are truth seekers, but fluid in how they find the truth". For me, this is what I want to embody the legacy of--to have my path be an invitation for others to question and seek their truths as well.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
A photo of Ed Cohen's "On Learning to Heal"

# data[].attributes.body
One of my short-term goals in NYC is to visit as many LGBT+ bookstores as possible. There are a good number of them in Manhattan and each weekend I take some time to go visit one.

This past weekend I went the The Center--home to one of the community's most prominent resource and support centers in the city. There is a pop-up bookstore that opens every Sunday and the money goes towards supporting the resources The Center provides--so I figured it would be a win-win.

There were so many books at the store, but this one in particular caught my eye. I'm normally a "judge by its cover" kinda reader (yes, I know that's not what we're "supposed" to do) but the title is what caught me. After last week's perspective change, I've been seeing signals for me to slow down and this book became another symbol of that. The words matched what I was feeling at the moment--taking time to breath, to heal, to grow. For me, this meant a lot of different things. I think about my 20s and how much of it has been dedicated to school and growing professionally. There is an intense pressure on early 20-somethings to have a clear understanding of where they're going--although it seems like as I get older not many people truly know what they're doing (which isn't a bad thing!). I feel like as I'm entering my late-20s, this book can be a representation of what I am transitioning to--a time to heal and learning how to slow down and not be pressured by expectations of timelines.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
A picture of the sky from a walk with a friend

# data[].attributes.body
Learning Journal Week 3

This past week I had a friend visit into town, so naturally we went out into the city. I visited Brooklyn for the first time, which was exciting. Something I have been trying to grow here in NYC is my sense of community. Since I'm graduating this semester, much of what I take for granted at TC will shift and I will be doing my own community-building with other 20-somethings looking to do the same.

The photo above is from one of the many walks we took that weekend. We had found a park bench to take a rest and eat lunch. We started chatting about the program I'm in, work, application cycle, and catching up on all that I had been doing in the past week. It had been a hectic start to the semester, so when I looked up at the sky during a pause in the conversation it felt like the first time I had looked up in a while.

Even though this picture is very typical, I took it because in that moment it meant a lot to me. I had a perspective shift--I had been focused so much on the future with my nose to the ground that the sky was a reminder to look back around and see what's happening. The sky was something that always helped me feel lighter--it's a very hopeful symbol. This was an indication for me to slow down, take a breath, and see what else is around.

Coincidentally, it looks like PhD applications are not panning out the way I hoped. I received a rejection letter from one of the school's I was hoping to interview with. But I'm taking this perspective change as a reminder that there's always something more than what we expect, especially when it may not turn out the way we thought.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
A picture of one of the gongs from the Mandala Lab at the Rubin Museum

# data[].attributes.body
This past week, I had another rainy day opportunity to visit one of New York's museums. This was the Rubin Museum--dedicated to Himalayan art and culture--with its Mandala Lab being the main showcase.

This interactive exhibit centers around how we can release emotions. There were several gongs to choose from. You would focus on something you wanted to release, taking the hammer and hit the gong, and then pull the lever and have the gong submerge in the water. You would listen until the reverberation from the gong was drowned out by the water and the water became still again.

I was drawn to the gong above and did the exercise as described. I found it very relaxing--I never considered putting something in water as a notion of release, but it was an experience that left me feeling (positively) shifted.

It wasn't until after I was done that I noticed I chose the gong with the spiral imprint. Spirals are a pattern and shape that have followed me for quite some time, but it has been a while since I've noticed them. This comes at the week we are discussing images and symbols that can have deeper connections to our subconcious. The spiral signifies growth and transformation--something that does resonate with me right now. It's also not lost on me that, as I'm realizing, I posted a spiral last week as well. I'm taking these signs as confirmation that I am growing, confirmation that I am moving along in my journey. I am interested to see if the spiral will continue--I am going to try my best not to seek its symbol but let it naturally show up.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
A snapshot from the top of the spiral walkway at the Guggenheim 

# data[].attributes.body
I'm told the draw of the Guggenheim Museum is not only its portfolio of artwork, but the spiral structure through which the art is showcased. I mainly went to reconnect with an old friend (and channel our inner faux art critic) but I loved the how the structure of the building blended into navigating the exhibits.

I find myself in a vulnerable place in my life--I am entering my last semester of grad school and feel anticipation about the next few months. I have a few paths in front of me--I am waiting to hear back from some PhD programs in between job searching and apartment hunting. There is a lot of transition right now--I feel the liminality of my direction.

Liminality is familiar though--I have often stood in the dimension of in-between and have become somewhat accustomed to uncertainty. I say somewhat because there is still a piece of me unsure and afraid of the unknown. I've been here before--uncertain about my future--and the beauty of the last few years is that many of us have. It was something that brought me closer to the people in my life; the opportunity to navigate the unknown together.

And yet, this is a very private and personal journey for me right now. I went through a period of loss with friends--aspects where I could not be who I am around them and aspects where I fell short in showing up. I am discerning between who I was and who I am becoming--and there is both a level of joy and a level of grief. I am grieving not only who I was, but what I thought things would be.

The museum was a favorite of mine--not because of the artwork, but because the building itself offered a gentle reminder. I love the metaphor of an art museum being art itself--the reflection that our growth is built on our previous work. The picture above is a photo from the top of the spiral--a metaphor for looking back towards my experiences. I find myself at a place of instability again and yet I am not as alone as I was before nor as I thought I would be. Grief is transformative right now, showing me where I can let in new experiences and new relationships. Much like the Guggenheim, growth is an upward spiral; even though I find myself in familiar territory, it is still built upon the past. I am grateful for finding my way here and receiving this reminder.

Much of my journal will be focused on the lessons I learn from the world around me. New York City acts as my classroom--and my hope is to reflect on what finds me here.